The Demon Within (25 page)

There would be no more chances for him.

She was it.

He watched her collect the rest of her weapons, efficiently hiding them back on her person. Pain streaked up his arm when he moved to follow, the cut deep enough to slow healing.

“We need to go. Midnight’s too dangerous for us to stay in the city.” Without waiting for a response, Ruman turned away. Only after he heard her light steps behind him did he breathe again. He’d made such a hack of everything, he wasn’t sure she’d follow.

“Wait.”

Ruman kept moving, very conscious that they were vulnerable while out in the open.

“I said stop.”

He took five steps before he realized she’d stopped moving. Dread tightened his gut, and he slowly turned. Arms crossed, her foot tapping, Ruman knew he wouldn’t be able to budge her.

“What?” Careful to keep his gaze on her face, Ruman advanced. It was time she listened to him, even if he had to drag her out of the building.

“You’re wounded.” He didn’t understand the pinched expression on her face.

“I’m fine.” He glanced down at the two gouge marks that arrowed through his flesh. The ends were blackened, burned from the demon claws. By tomorrow, he’d be good as new. “We have to go.” Ruman captured her wrists, turned and pulled her behind him.

“We either look at the wound now or spend the rest of the night arguing.” She dug in her heels, using her weight to slow him. “The only way you’ll get me to go anywhere with you is to let me take a look.”

He shifted to pick her up, but the look on her face pulled him up short.

“I’ll scream bloody murder. Think of all the attention.”

A deep sigh rumbled through him. “We don’t have the time. The demon that escaped could come back with reinforcements.”

Caly raised an eyebrow and looked to the chair behind her. “Then you’d best get your butt over here so we can get this done.”

Ruman ambled closer, baffled at her insistence to look over some scratch when the demons could return at any time.

“Sit.” She pointed to the chair and crouched to unpack a small black bag from her suitcase.

Exasperated, he did as told. Anything to get her to hurry. “Just tape it up—” His breath hissed out when she pressed an antiseptic pad to his wound. “It’s just a scratch. Why does it feel like you’re ripping off the whole arm?”

“Stop being a baby and let me get this bandaged.”

Ruman turned his head then froze when he found her face inches away, her brows furrowed in concentration. Predictably, his body reacted, eager to inspect every inch of her for injury and familiarize himself with her body.

The pain didn’t distract him. If anything, he wanted to strip her naked and take advantage of her good nature. Until he noticed a fine tremor in her fingers when she tied off the bandage.

She cared.

The novelty of the idea destroyed his focus. He opened his mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. Knowing her, if he mentioned it at all, she would deny it. Or worse, try to prove him wrong. The last thing he wanted was for her to retreat.

“Done.” She snatched her hands away as if she’d touched a live coal. Turning her back to him, she silently and efficiently repacked the bag.

Ruman didn’t say a word, using the time to monitor the area. So far, they were safe.

No sign of retaliation.

No otherworldly activity in the area.

When she stood, he reached past her, brushing against her arm and lifting the case off the floor.

That she cared was enough to forgive her for trying to run.

But if she ever tried something like that again, he’d tie her up just so she’d remain where he put her.

Chapter Eighteen

S
tars illuminated the sky for miles as they barreled through the night on an invisible road. No markers, no traffic, no towns. Nothing in any direction. Caly didn’t have a clue where they were except to say in the middle of an endless sea of sand.

A tinge of pale pink threatened the horizon. They’d have to pitch camp soon, traveling by night for Ruman’s benefit. Deep in the desert, each mile brought them a step closer to Dudael. To finally having answers. After little sleep over the past few nights, only nerves kept her awake.

She wanted to be conscious when they arrived. If she fell asleep, Ruman, the sneaky bastard, would leave her somewhere safe, all tucked away in the middle of the desert while he searched for answers.

But no matter how she fought it, exhaustion drained her last reserves. Her body grew heavy. Her eyes itched, their sockets dry, and the temptation to give them a rest for just a second weighed them down.

Her head bobbed and she jerked upright, shifting in her seat. It didn’t help. Warmth surrounded her and sleep beckoned. The constant sound of sand hitting the car in an uneven rhythm lulled her.

The cheap Volkswagen Rabbit’s interior was almost completely made of plastic. The rusted red exterior had dulled to a matte finish from years in the sun. When Ruman told the car rental place they were going out for a ride in the desert, they gave them the cheapest model available. Which wasn’t much.

Like any man, Ruman insisted on driving although he had never driven before. The first few miles were ones she never want to repeat. He said it was because he knew the way, but after hours of seemingly aimless wandering, they were in the middle of…she looked out the window. Yep, same place.

Nowhere.

Hands clasped in her lap, she studied her fingers. Unlike Ruman’s unmarked hands, calluses ran along her fingers, nicks and wounds from practice with tossing knives littered her skin. Three cuts had required stitches, which Oscar handled himself, giving them a Frankensteinish appearance.

She traced a long, puckered scar along her index finger with her thumb. Her chin touched her chest, rested there for a moment. Her eyes fluttered. When her head came to rest against the window, she closed her eyes for a second to ease the dryness.

An image formed, sharpened into a room of sorts. She spun, quickly scanning every corner. The place was sealed tight, no doorways or windows. No avenues for escape. The stone walls were decorated like a museum with weapons from broadswords to rapiers, American Indian war lances to Mongolian spearheads, even Greek javelins and so much more. Shields with embossed crests dotted the walls.

Polished steel sparkled, varnished wood gleamed. Then her gaze landed on the pedestals and the daggers displayed there. One specific dagger drew her irresistibly forward, and she took a few steps closer, unable to help herself.

She had to see it.

Her boots scuffled along the floor, the sound loud in the silence. She scarcely restrained herself from reaching for it. Something told her she’d get slapped down hard for daring to touch anything here.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” A low, melodious voice filled the room.

Caly whirled and came face to face with the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. The way he moved toward her, the way his eyes slowly raked her body, let her know he was more than dangerous. Lethal.

The elusive Azazel.

Something about him shouted ‘don’t touch’. When he continued to advance, she took a hasty step back. He stopped and raised his hands in surrender, but used the time to study her with a slow perusal that left no inch uncovered. Satisfied with his conclusions, he nodded to the pedestals. “You prefer the daggers over the others.”

It was a statement, but she was compelled to answer anyway. “Yes.”

He reached out to her but slowed when she flinched. He traced the sheath around her waist instead of touching her. “Are you worthy to wield such a weapon?” He dropped his hand then nodded, indicated behind her. “Some of the greatest warriors throughout the centuries have wielded these blades.”

She swallowed the temptation to look behind her, refused to give him any ammunition against her.

He circled her, his fingers tracing the case she’d been admiring, and slowly opened the lid to temptation. “Go ahead. Touch it.”

The desire to do just that shook her control. The need to feel the dagger in her grip made her palms itch. Her hand hovered over the pommel when self-preservation kicked her hard in the guts.

“No harm will come to you. Feel the balance. It’s perfect. To hold. To throw. To fight.”

Seduced, Caly traced the air above the finely honed steel. Electricity, not unlike a shock, coursed through her fingers. The longer she lingered, the stronger the sensation grew.

“Ah, that explains it.” He sounded both pleased and a bit disgruntled.

“Hmmm?” Unwilling to be distracted, Caly tuned his voice out. The design etched into the steel matched the pommel and both were unfamiliar. It frustrated her that she couldn’t place either the age or the ethnicity.

“That explains why you find the knife so much more interesting than me.”

It took a few seconds for the words to register. “What?” Caly whirled, placing her body protectively in front of the dagger.

“People throughout the centuries came here for a chance to own one of these weapons. Weapons blessed and owned by some of the fiercest kings and warriors throughout history. Many were rejected. Others came wanting something else.” He smiled dangerously and took a step forward.

“What do you want? If you could have anything,” he took another step, “anything in the world, what would you choose? Cold steel or,” he closed the space between them, “a lifetime of having your every wish granted?” He lifted his hand, and Caly sidestepped to avoid his touch.

“The weapon.” She didn’t hesitate.

“
Caly
.” Ruman’s voice made the image of Azazel waver.

Azazel’s gaze sharpened. A wry smile crossed his lips, a touch of pain and a bit of derision. “An angel. Not many visitors bring one of their kind along.” The pretenses were dropped, every trace of seduction was replaced by determination. “We don’t have much time. Even with the help of your guardian, the chances of survival are almost non-existent.”

Darkness crowded closer and she fought to remain. She needed answers. “Why offer to help me?”

He smiled sadly. “You don’t understand yet, but you will. For the love of a woman, I gave up everything. And because of a betrayal, I’ll spend eternity here.”

Caly narrowed her eyes. “A sentence that could end with the start of a war.”

“Not like this. Humans and demons have managed to do this one all on their own.”

“Tell me.” Only his face remained visible. She could feel Ruman’s hands on her, a murmur of his voice calling her to him. Urgency ratcheted through her.

She couldn’t leave without answers.

“You have to survive or the demons will gain a foothold in the war. The dagger you admired so much will come to you. It will protect you as it did those who came before you.” The light dissipated until only his voice spoke out of the inky blackness.

“Why me?” She couldn’t prevent herself from asking. “Why help me?”

A gentle breeze touched her face like a caress. “You remind me of someone I use to know a long time ago. Be brave. Be daring. And may you have the courage to grab and keep what you hold most dear.”